


Firestarter

by kijilinn



Series: Negan's Saga [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Cutting, D/s, F/F, F/M, Mental Illness, Post-Apocalypse, Pyromania, Sexual Content, Zombies, compulsive disorders, self-injury, the walking dead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijilinn/pseuds/kijilinn
Summary: Someone's lighting fires around the Sanctuary. Negan is not a happy camper. Maybe Saga and her crew can help figure out where the flames are coming from.





	1. Chapter 1

The place was impressive; there was no denying that. Mal watched as the Saviors’ compound, Sanctuary loomed into view, dominating the surrounding landscape. As the caravan of motorcycles and RVs wandered closer to the old factory, he considered what details he could from the window. There were small farms and gardens set up just beyond a gate of barbed wire; for all that Negan wasn’t growing a garden, it was clear that someone was. 

And where there were gardens, there was destruction. Mal pulled his sunglasses down his nose to squint across the distance, trying to confirm what he thought he had seen: scorch marks along the edges of the far wall’s garden. He glanced at the driver of the truck he was riding in and wondered if he could slip out without being noticed.  _ Yeah. You don’t want to be noticed, stop dying your hair blue, genius. _

Once the caravan was safely behind the gates again and everyone started to deploy, it was easier for Mal to slip down along the fence and study what he’d seen. Definitely signs of fire damage of some kind along the fence, especially around the gardens. Like someone trying to sabotage the food supply. He frowned and pulled thoughtfully at his bottom lip as he considered the implications. It looked like the fires had been set from outside the gate, which made sense. 

After a second, he heard the crunch of boot steps coming up behind him. Slowly, he looked up and over his shoulder, squinting into the sun. “Coming?” Saga asked him softly.

“Yeah,” he agreed and stood up, looking down at the scorch marks again.

“What did you find?” she murmured.

“Someone’s been setting fires,” Mal replied and toed the outer edge of the garden with his boot. “On this side of their living wall.”

Saga made a thoughtful sound, studying the wire mesh blackened with soot and the fence of struggling zombies a little farther on. “I’m sure it’s something Negan is aware of,” she murmured. “Or will be shortly.”

“True.” He shrugged. “I was just curious.”

“Careful with that,” Saga said. “You’re mine, but I can’t protect you from everything.”

“Of course.” Mal worried his lip with his teeth for a second, then turned back when Saga tugged his arm. He submitted to her immediately when she pulled him to his knees in front of her, head bowed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I should have stayed with the group.”

“Just be careful,” she said, stroking his face. She leaned in and kissed him, that same luring pressure of her lips that had first driven him crazy. “I don’t like losing what’s mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered back, eyes closed. The charisma of the woman was overwhelming, even after months of working and living side-by-side on the road. Mal waited, hoping she’d kiss him again before she walked away. He knew better than the ask, but there was nothing wrong with hoping. The tip of her tongue circled the edge of his lip and he sighed. Ever since the Saviors had caught up with their group, Saga had been preoccupied with their leader, Negan. It mean that her crew, who were used to having her undivided attention, were kind of hurting for it now. She didn’t demand exclusivity by any means, but… with someone like Saga around, everyone else seemed a little pale in comparison.

Her lips were starting to press more firmly against his when Negan’s voice echoed from the front gate, “SHIT! Are you fucking kidding me!?” They both jumped at the anger in his voice and Saga winced, glancing down at Mal. He nodded and they slipped back to the main group to find out what was going on. 

Negan was pacing angrily in front of a Savior who looked like he might have been sleeping a bit better than most of the crew that had been on the road. He watched his leader nervously, exchanging glances with Dwight whenever Negan struck out randomly with Lucille. “We’re looking into it, sir.”

“Well, I should fucking hope so!” Negan snapped at him. “How much did we lose?”

“There was structural damage to the Eastern storage building, but most of the stuff stored there was okay. We’re trying to repair it now.” 

Negan turned with another grumbled curse, then looked at Saga as she and Mal returned to the group. “Saga, any of your people good with a hammer?”

“Ken is,” she replied immediately. “Wanda knows her way around the power tools, too, if you need them.” She paused and glanced over her people.

Mal touched her elbow and whispered, “Don’s father was an architect and he spent two summers as a carpenter in high school. He knows how, even if he may not like doing it. And Kay likes to take things apart, if they need any demo.”

“Thanks,” she murmured back, then directed the two additional members of her crew to help Negan’s people. As they all trooped off in the direction of the damaged storage building, Saga paused to turn back to Mal. She pulled him down to her mouth again, taking a long moment to kiss him before letting him go and whispering, “I’d almost forgotten how much fun you are, Mal. Maybe I’ll see you soon.”

He watched her go, blushing furiously. Negan watched their exchange with steel in his eyes and Mal tried not to meet the bigger man’s gaze. But Negan was magnetic. His dark hazel eyes drew Mal’s gaze and held it tightly, making it painfully clear that Negan was not comfortable with the length of time Saga had been kissing him. Mal tried to look down and away, tried to show the same cowed subservience to Negan that he showed to Saga, but Negan didn’t let him, breaking the eye contact first and turning back to his people.

As soon as the big man had turned away from him, Mal sagged with a little gasp. “Well, that was an impressive little dick wave,” chuckled Wanda as she came up beside him and leaned an arm on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine once my balls crawl back down out of my stomach,” he sighed and shook his head. “Damn, but he’s terrifying. I thought Saga was bad.”

“She is,” Wanda replied in a low voice. “And don’t let your fear of him make you forget how scary she is when she’s pissed.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both remembering the last time.

 

***

 

_ Six months ago _

The scream echoed in the darkness and everyone woke up immediately, backing up until they were in a ring around Saga instinctively. Dylan was shaking, holding his rifle up and pointing it off into the darkness. “What the hell was that?”

“Rabbit?” Wanda speculated.

“No chance,” Hinder answered immediately. “That was human. And not dead yet, either.”

“Let me out,” Saga said in a soft voice and put her hand on Hinder’s shoulder. Reluctantly, he shifted to the side to let her join the ring. “Anything that screams like that will draw attention, whether from animals or the undead. Or even other humans. We should either go or check it out quickly.” She glanced at her people. “Thoughts? I’m open to suggestion on this one.”

A second scream ripped the air and Dylan winced. This time, it wasn’t just the scream. The voice continued, “Someone! Please, help!”

“She’s still alive,” Hinder said and rocked up onto the balls of his feet, restless. “She might even be unbitten.” Saga regarded him quietly for a moment and he glanced at her, blushing. “I’m just saying. We might could use the extra hands.”

“And the extra mouth to feed,” she replied softly. 

“Jesus, Saga,” he said, his tone pleading. “We can’t just leave her out here.”

The woman stared at him calmly, then glanced to the others. “Weigh in or lose the chance.”

“Better to have an extra mouth and extra hands. And extra eyes for watches,” Wanda said quickly.

“We should help,” Dylan agreed.

“You’re going to get us all killed,” Saga sighed but nodded. “Okay. We’ll go.” 

They packed up the camp quickly, dowsed the remains of their fire, and trotted off in the direction of the screaming. A few more screams followed, keeping them on course until they found a small clearing with nearly a dozen undead clawing at the foot of a tall oak tree. Two figures crouched on branches several feet above the heads of the walkers. The dark-haired girl had obviously been the source of the screams. She was dressed in jeans and a white peasant blouse that had seen better days, lying in tatters across her shoulders and midriff. On another branch crouched a young man maybe two or three years older with his dyed blue hair short and spiked. He was wearing jeans and a heavy leather jacket over a t-shirt. They were both wearing combat boots that looked like they had been salvaged after online shopping had become a distant memory. “Help!” the girl screamed again when she saw Saga and her crew coming warily into the clearing. She waved her arms wildly and the boy hushed her in irritation.

“Work the outside,” Saga told her people calmly. “Blades only for now. If we need the guns, wait for it. Try to draw them back one at a time, dispatch, then pull another. Ready?”

“Ma’am,” Wanda said in her steady, serious voice. She was echoed by the boys and they all readied their weapons. 

“Go,” Saga said, her own machete dropping into her hand as she stepped forward. With the flat of the blade, she tapped a zombie firmly on the side of the head to get it to turn, then backed away until she could get a decent strike at its head. She attracted two with the ploy, so dispatched the next as easily. Her crew had been working on these maneuvers for a few weeks now and it was getting easier to chop their way through a distracted hoard a few bodies at a time. One of them came up from behind, apparently staggering out of the woods and Saga gave it her duct-taped jacket arm to chew on while she took off its head and finished the brain with a stab. In the space of about twenty minutes, her crew had demolished the circle of zombies around the tree and they all stepped back to look up.

“Wow.” The girl was staring at them all in obvious admiration. Her eyes were mostly on Hinder, though and Wanda felt a twinge of worry at that. Saga could see it, too, and the woman’s blue eyes went even colder than usual. “Thank you.”

“I’m Hinder,” he offered, leaning up to help her climb down. She slipped and squeaked and he caught her easily, sweeping her down to the ground like something from a romance novel. They both stopped to stare and then look away again. “I’m surprised you guys made it up that tree without getting bitten.”

“It was a near thing,” the blue-haired boy said as he slid down the tree without assistance. He glanced at Saga, then at Hinder, then back at Saga and his brown eyes narrowed slightly, curious. Wanda’s lips twitched in amusement: that boy was smarter than his blue hair made him seem. “I’m glad we decided to stop for boots, Manda.”

The girl looked down at the heavy combat boots on her feet and nodded, “Yeah, if I’d still been wearing sandals, I’d be dead by now.” Hinder glanced down and observed the chew marks on her boots with a grimace. Manda looked at him when his gaze came back up and they exchanged another one of those long stares.

This time, Saga walked calmly over to them and said, “Jon.” 

He blinked and looked at her, suddenly seeming to realize what he had been doing. He inclined his head quickly, then looked at the pair more seriously. “Can you fight?”

“Fight?” Manda stuttered nervously. “No, I can barely hold a knife to cut an apple.”

“I can shoot,” the boy replied, lifting his chin. “I’m not great, but I know how.”

“Shotgun or rifle?”

“Either, whatever you have extra of.”

Hinder glanced at Saga and she barely half-closed her eyes, granting him permission. He handed over his shotgun to the boy. “This is Saga, Wanda, and Dylan,” Hinder said quickly, pointing. “And you are?”

“Mal,” the boy said. “And this is Manda, my sister.”

“Hello.” Manda gave a little cheery wave, then looked nervous and the smile cracked like brittle pottery to fall from her face.

“Where are you headed?” Mal asked.

“We’re just heading,” Hinder replied. “We don’t have a place in mind so much as a way of moving to keep from getting pinned down.”

“We had heard of a place,” Manda said quickly, her eyes eager and bright. “Terminus? They said there was room for everyone there. The start of civilization again.”

“Fat chance,” snorted Dylan and Saga smiled thinly. 

“Civilization doesn’t interest me much,” Saga said. Her voice was low and even, almost uninflected. “I like it better out here.” Manda looked at her incredulously and something in Saga’s blue eyes sharpened. Hinder and Wanda exchanged a worried glance.

“Lady, you’re crazy.”

The three words nobody said to Saga.

Saga’s lips quirked into a smile. She stepped forward and with in swift stroke, she sliced what was left of Manda’s shirt off of her with the blade of her machete. The girl screamed and backed up as Saga followed her calmly, the blade still swinging. “Don’t call me crazy if you want to live long.”

“I’m sorry!” Manda screamed, scrambling backwards. 

“You’d better be.” Saga struck once more with the machete and Manda’s scream spiralled up from panic to pain as the blade cut through the toe of her boot, splitting her foot in half between the big toe and the next. She halted the motion, purposely sticking the blade part of the way into Manda’s foot. “I’m alive and that’s what matters.” Saga wrenched backwards, removing the blade again while Manda curled around herself, still sobbing in agony. As she paced back to her people, she shook the blood from her machete and wiped it on her jeans. She looked over Mal’s horror-stricken face, then said softly, “Be mine and live. Or stay with your sister and die.” 

She gave him a minute to consider, listening to his sister sobbing and calling his name. Finally, he steeled his jaw and stared at her. She took him by the throat and gently pushed downward. 

He knelt and bowed his head. “I’m yours.”

 

***

 

The bulk of the party was back.

That meant Negan was back. 

Hera ground her teeth together, then made a conscious effort to stop. With Negan back, fires were not a good plan. She pressed her face to the grass in a low groan. It had been good to have that outlet. She was going to have to fall back on other things now. 

She shifted her hips and crawled through the brush that had grown up between the barbed wire fence and the strings of undead guardians. She stayed low, the way she had for weeks. Stealing food from the gardens. Slipping past the guards for bread and canned food, then sneaking back out again. 

The last fire she set had ruined a garden she’d been using for potatoes and carrots. She’d been so mad at herself for that. But the itch was too much and she just couldn’t bring herself to shed blood again. Not for the itch. So she’d set a fire. She’d tried to keep it small, under control. But she was too close to the mulch they’d freshly spread and it must have spread beyond where she could see. 

She had run then, scrambling and ducking to get away before the guards could respond or the zombies could think about coming back into the no-man’s land behind them. She’d finally found a place where nobody could see her: not the living, not the dead. And she’d cried herself out and shed the blood that the out of control fire had demanded of her. 

Now, Negan was back. She found herself wondering if surrender was better than this limbo. Maybe she’d even be able to find a way to be useful. Fire could be useful. Blood could be useful.

No. Useful surrender wasn’t better. He couldn’t find her out here. 

Nobody could find her. 

But the fires were making it harder to travel. And if she couldn’t set fires, she had to shed blood. Which didn’t make travel easy, either, at least alone. 

She was only able to travel alone, though. 

Nobody wanted to travel with a pyro.


	2. Chapter 2

The only warning she got was a grunt, but that was enough. Saga rolled sharply and landed on the floor of Negan’s room. He thrashed himself awake and sat up in the bed, panting. “What the fuck.”

“What’s the bell mean?” Saga asked him, still crouching on the floor. A bell was ringing wildly outside. Negan stood up quickly and went to the window, pulling a robe over his shoulders as he went. Saga followed and peered around him. 

Red and orange flames lit up the night.

“Fire. Why the fucking fuck is my compound on fire?” Negan whipped back around and rushed past Saga. “What the fuck is going on!” He pulled jeans on, threw a shirt over his head, dropped the robe. Saga dragged clothes on just as quickly and together they sprinted down to the ground floor. “What’s going on!” 

“Fire!” someone shouted back.

“I can fucking SEE that!” Negan roared. “Where?”

“South wall! Near the orchard!” 

“Shit.” Negan turned back to Saga and pointed. “Water tanks are that way. Go get them moving. And get any of your people who can handle an axe to head South.” She nodded quickly and they took off in opposite directions.

As she sprinted past the buildings where her people were staying, she hammered on the door and shouted, “Ken! Wanda! Go South, help with the axe brigade. Roger, with me. Mal, get the others moving. There’s fire in the orchard to the South. We’re going for water.”

“Got it, boss,” Mal called as Roger staggered out of bed and down onto the path after her. Saga grabbed Roger’s sleeve and they headed off, leaving Mal to turn back toward the room of people. “Rise and shine!” he shouted. “Asses up, there’s work to do!” He could hear Wanda and Ken sprinting off toward the site of the fire. A few more people stumbled out past him and he directed them South. As their ranks thinned, Mal rubbed his hands over his face and grabbed one of the girls by the arm. “Rosalyn, right?” She nodded. “Come with me. I want to check something.”

“Sir,” she said. Mal lead Rosalyn through the compound as quickly as he could without getting lost, then paused and crouched, indicating that she should be quiet, too. She followed his lead and they both watched a corridor between two small storage buildings. “What are…”

“Shh.” Mal pressed his fingers to his lips and waited. Finally, a shadow detached from the wall and a slight figure scrambled to the larger building. “There.”

“How did you know?”

“Seemed like a distraction.” They watched the small figure crouched over the locked door. It popped open with a limited amount of fiddling and he chuckled softly. “She’s good with locks.” They waited a little longer, until their guest reappeared with a duffel bag bulging with stolen supplies. She looked back and forth down the hall, so Mal and Rosalyn pressed back out of sight until she felt safe and started away. “Let’s see where she goes.” 

They followed her through the alleyways of the compound until she started to slow down and pause more often. Suddenly, she dropped the bag and sprinted off in a different direction. “Shit!” Mal gasped and tried to follow her. “She must have seen us.”

“I’ll get the bag,” Rosalyn said and he nodded, focusing on trying to race down the intruder. 

She was fast and nimble, darting around corners seemingly at random and telegraphing her movements to misdirect. Finally, Mal managed to predict one of those misdirects correctly and tackled her around the waist. She screamed like a kicked cat and rounded on him, clawing at his face with curled fingers that smelled like mulch and smoke. He tried to catch her hands, but that only seemed to make her wilder and she kicked him soundly in the stomach, wrenching herself free and practically flying down the alley.

“Fuck,” he grunted, trying to catch his breath. By the time he could stand up again, she was gone.

“She lose you?” Rosalyn asked as she caught up with the duffel bag. 

“Yeah, kicked me pretty good.” Mal sat up and rubbed his hands through his hair with a groan. “She’s strong, too. Stronger than I would have thought.”

“Did you get a good look?”

“She’s female, about our age, I’d guess. Caucasian, dark hair but couldn’t get a good idea of the color. She had a hood up.” He paused and looked up at Rosalyn thoughtfully, “but she smelled like smoke. I think she’s our firebug.”

“We should probably report in,” Rosalyn said thoughtfully. “See if they need us with the fire or if they’ve got it.”

“Good idea.” He accepted her hand in standing up and they returned to the main plaza.

 

***

 

On the other side of the compound, Negan and the other Saviors had their hands full. The fire had spread from the grass and mulch near the Southern fence and some of the fruit trees were lit up like Roman candles. Negan shouted orders, passed along by Dwight, and they focused on cutting down the trees closest to those they couldn’t save. “Just save the damn peaches,” Negan muttered under his breath as he turned his back on the fire. “Saga!”

“Here!” she shouted back. Three water tanks on wheels rolled in behind her as she and one of her closest crew shouted directions to the people pulling and pushing. 

“Aim to dowse the near trees first!” he bellowed. “Then work to the center.”

“Got it!” With a furious sound of pumping, the crews on the tanks began building pressure to the hoses. Someone deeper into the orchard screamed with the crash of falling of branches and Negan winced, wondering who’d bitten it. Saga rushed up next to him, her eyes wide and diamond-hard. “What else do you need?”

“We’re cutting what we can’t save,” Negan told her. “Water should do the rest.”

“You need another hand cutting?”

“No.” They paused to study each other and Saga lifted her chin. “No,” he repeated in a softer voice, reaching to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She retreated half a step, expression set and irritated and he sighed, reclaiming his hand. “There’s only so much room for axes in there anyway.”

Saga glanced over the people working furiously to save the orchard and her face closed down. “Where’s Mal?” she mused, more to herself than to Negan. He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. “One of my people isn’t here. Two, actually.”

“Saga.” Mal and Rosalyn came up from behind them.

“You have the strangest timing,” Saga said as she turned toward them. Her eyes flicked over Rosalyn’s face, then to Mal’s, calculating. “Where have you been?”

“I had a hunch,” Mal admitted. “I asked Rosalyn to back me up. We saw someone.”

Negan’s focus came back toward them and Mal swallowed hard to keep from backing away from the big man’s gaze. “What did you see?”

“A girl,” Rosalyn said, “dodging between buildings near storage.”

“I think she set the fire as a diversion,” added Mal. “She picked the lock on one of the buildings and was in and out quick. She knew exactly what she wanted and where to find it.”

Rosalyn held up the duffel and handed it to Negan when he reached. “This is what she took. She dropped it and bolted when she spotted us following her.”

Negan put the bag on the ground and opened it, rummaging through it and his face getting darker the deeper he went. “Food, mostly. Canned food, some of the cellar stuff. But she’s got kerosene in here, too. Matches. First aid cream, burn cream. Cookies. What the fuck.” He rocked back on his heels, still squatting and holding something in his hands with a horrified look on his face. 

Saga came to stand next to him, her hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s…” he trailed off, just staring at the battered notebook in his hands. Finally, he shook his head and dropped it back into the bag. “Impossible.” Before anyone could respond, Negan stood and walked away from the bag, his attention back on the fire.

Saga looked down into the bag and picked up the notebook, her expression puzzled. On the worn cover was a drawing in marker, surprisingly good, of a woman in profile with dark hair and a strong set to her face. Written underneath in careful block letters was the word, “Lucy.”

 

***

 

Hera curled around herself, sobbing. The fire worked, but she hadn’t. Someone had seen her. Someone had followed her. 

Someone had touched her.

Even now, where she knew she was safe, where she knew nobody could reach her… someone had touched her. She could still feel his hands on her wrists, could still see his face looming over her. He had been so strong. So strong.

But she could still see his eyes. When she’d looked up to claw at his face, he had been so surprised. And his brown eyes were kind underneath. She just didn’t know how deeply underneath.

Was there anyone in this world left who was kind? Or had the rise of the dead killed the heart of kindness? She still remembered kindness. Remembered how it felt to be kind. To receive it. For all the cruelty, there was still a memory of when life was kinder.

She remembered her aunt’s face. One of the only faces she still remembered. Maybe it was because she kept drawing it. Over and over and over. She wondered if she’d survived. Or if the cancer had taken her before the rise. Or if this world really had killed everything kind.

It hadn’t killed Negan. 

She wondered if there was any kindness in him still. She remembered the difference in his face from when he was smiling because he had to and when he was smiling because he wanted to. She remembered stealing a cookie from his napkin when he wasn’t looking and having him throw her over his shoulder and tickle her until she squealed. She’d been five. He hadn’t even taken the cookie back when he’d finished torturing her.

Hera put her head down on her hands and howled out everything inside of her. She missed her family. She missed her friends. She missed the old life that was gone and buried, only to rise again like everything else dead.

She had seen what her uncle had become now. Ruler, tyrant, vicious and cold with a smile that only hinted at the man she’d known. Maybe he didn’t even remember her. If he didn’t, maybe it was better. Maybe it was better than her uncle, the man who poured her milk for the stolen cookies and tickled her… maybe it was better if he was dead. 

This world might have killed him anyway.

 

***

 

Saga found Negan standing in his penthouse and staring out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He stared down over the remains of the orchard. They had managed to save at least half of the trees, but much of the harvest was ruined, damaged by smoke and heat. There were workers out there now, trying to collect what they could. Slowly, Saga walked up behind him and put a hand on his lower back. “You’re quiet.”

“So?” The sullen edge in his voice made her pause.

“What did you see in that bag that I didn’t?”

“Nothing.”

Saga considered his answer, then reached to put a hand on his shoulder and turn him to face her. He didn’t meet her eyes, but she brought up her hand and drew his face down so he would look at her. “Don’t. Lie. To me.”

Negan looked at her for a moment, then closed his eyes with a low, slow sigh. “Make me tell you.”

Quietly surprised, Saga put her hand on his collar and pulled him firmly down. He went willingly until she had him pinned on his back on the floor, her hands over his throat as she straddled him. “Tell me.”

“No.”

Saga slapped him sharply across the face. “Tell me.”

Finally, his eyes opened and he looked up at her. Saga could feel his breath shaking in his chest. Whatever it was, it was something huge. “The notebook. The woman on it looked like my wife.”

“Which one?”

He stared up at her and Saga opened her mouth in a silent “oh.” 

“Nobody called her Lucy, though.” Negan sagged back against the floor. When Saga started to take her hands back, he whispered, “No. Don’t.” She let her hands rest over his throat again, applying light pressure. When she had settled there, he exhaled like her touch was relief. “Nobody but family.” Saga waited, letting her thumbs caress his skin slowly. “But that’s ridiculous. Nobody survives this. Especially kids.”

“Did you have kids?”

“No, not us. Lucille’s sister had a daughter, though. Scrappy little bitch, carrot top and freckles. Liked to st…” his eyes flashed open and he met Saga’s gaze as he trailed off. Saga waited and Negan licked his lips nervously, eyes darting to the side. “She liked to steal stuff. Cookies. Lighters. I gave her a lighter for her birthday one year and Lucille gave me hell about it. Guess they were trying to break her of the firebug thing.”

“Do you think it’s her setting the fires?” Saga asked quietly.

Negan shook his head. “There’s no way. There’s no way that kid survived this. Especially to make it all the way out here? No way.” Something in his voice made Saga stop and she caressed his throat again, applying gentle but firm pressure until his breath rasped a little. “But if she did,” he finally whispered, his eyes closed, “I’d want to keep her safe. For Lucille.”

“Just for Lucille?”

“No.” Negan opened his eyes and looked at Saga seriously. “For me, too.”

“Why.” 

The word seemed to rock him and Negan closed his eyes again with a sigh. He was silent a long time and Saga was just starting to lean her weight onto his neck again, to remind him she was waiting, when he spoke again: “Helen was a good kid. Like a little magpie, taking things and hiding them away and looking embarrassed when you found them again. Sneaking an extra cookie, but never from the package. Always from your plate. She took what belonged to you. Because…” his voice trailed off for a second and he took a long, rasping breath so Saga leaned back to give him more space to breathe. “Because she wanted to be yours, too, I think. Because if she took what was mine, I’d look at her. She was so little and her mom was so busy, her dad totally gone. Lucille babysat for her sometimes, long time ago. Long time.” His breath hitched again before he looked up to meet Saga’s eyes. “If it’s her, I’m gonna kill anyone who touches her. She’s all I’ve got left of Lucille.”

Saga was silent for a moment, then gently cupped her palms against his face. “I’ll help you.”

“Why?”

She leaned down and pressed her mouth against his, taking her time and stroking his face, his forehead and running her fingers through his hair. “Because I love you. And you’re mine. If she’s yours, that makes her mine, too.” Saga paused to smile at him. “I hate losing what’s mine.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Detailed compulsive thoughts and self-injury described in this chapter. Be forewarned.

“Okay, people, listen the fuck up.” Negan paced the square, surrounded by a mix of the Saviors and Saga’s people. She stood beside Mal and Hinder, her arms crossed over her chest and a thoughtful look on her face. “We’ve got eyes on a thief. Someone from outside our camp. I want to know who she is, how she’s getting in, and how the fuck she’s managing to set so many fires.” He swung Lucille up and over his shoulder as he turned back the other way. “Find her. Find where she hides. Catch her if you can. But I want her alive.” A few people shuffled their feet at that and Negan turned sharply, smacking the top of the bat against the dirt. “Alive. Unharmed. I don’t fucking want her to have a hangnail. She has so much as a papercut and somebody’s for fence duty. Understood?” The crowd rumbled a vague agreement and he nodded. “Good. Dwight, form up some search parties with Saga’s crew, get some people out there looking.”

“Yes, sir,” Dwight answered promptly.

Saga caught Mal’s eye and inclined her head toward Dwight. He nodded and went over to stand near the Savior to make sure the right people from her crew were picked for duty. As the search parties started forming up, Saga worked her way over to Negan and put a hand on his lower back. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he replied in a low voice. In silence, they watched the crews as Dwight finally dispatched them and rearranged the remaining people into work details around the compound. “I hope it isn’t her.”

“Why?”

“Because then I can kill the little bitch without feeling bad.” Negan sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It’s going to bug me, Saga. I hate not knowing. Now I’m going to think about Helen and wonder where she is, what happened to her. I’d rather know she was dead than wonder.”

Saga worked her fingers up under his jacket to rub his lower back. “Want to get your mind off it for a while?” He glanced back with a questioning eyebrow and she grinned, “Not like that. It’s just been a while since I did anything hand-to-hand. With an opponent that wasn’t trying to eat my brains, anyway. Interested?”

Negan slowly raised his eyebrow higher and smirked, “You want to fight me?”

“Hell, yes,” Saga grinned back. “I know you won’t pull your punches.”

“I dunno, doll,” Negan rocked slowly from one foot to the other, watching her with a slow grin curling his lips. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” 

Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth, part grin, part challenge. “I can take care of myself. I’d like to see you try.”

Negan licked his lips slowly and grinned back at her before glancing toward where Dwight was still assigning work details. “He’s got this. You’re on, beautiful.” He reached to grab for her and she ducked under his arm with a rangy movement like a hunting cat. 

“Not here,” she purred, eyes half closed, then dashed off between the buildings. “Catch me if you can!” She could already hear his feet pounding after her and she darted back and forth until she had enough distance from him to start making some plans. 

When Negan turned the next corner, he found the corridor empty when he expected Saga at least visible at the opposite end. He paused, wondering which direction to go next when something made him look up quickly, a prickle at the back of his neck. With her teeth bared and her strawberry blonde hair flying, she tackled him from the top of a stack of storage bins and drove him to the ground. He grunted and rolled, trying to escape her grip but she clung to him like a burr. Since she was coming anyway, Negan tried to roll and pin her down under his weight. Saga writhed out from under him and looped an arm around his neck from behind, her breath ruffling the hair on the back of his neck. “Damn!”

“I’d have your throat slit,” she purred in his ear. 

“And then I’d come back and eat your face off,” he chuckled, breathing hard. “I’d get you.”

“Eventually,” she agreed with a grin. She kissed his neck quickly, then let him go. “Round two?”

“Fair fight,” Negan replied, settling back into a boxing stance with his fists up. “Gimme your best shot, doll.”

“Fair fight?” she laughed, her head back. “With rules? Or am I allowed to mix my disciplines?”

“There are always rules,” Negan smiled. “It’s just a matter of what we do with them. Just throw a damn punch, woman.” He opened his left hand and smacked his right into it. “Right here. Give it to me.”

Saga chuckled, then sank down into a martial arts stance Negan hadn’t seen before.  _ Well, shit. _ She advanced once in a slow, sliding motion, then again, her eyes fixed on his. Her intensity was both terrifying and utterly arousing. It took all his focus to keep from looking away. Finally, her fisted hands darted out, one landing soundly in the palm of his left hand and the other knocking his right away before he had a chance to punch. As he was recovering from her strike, her leg snapped up and Negan reached to block as she kicked for his side. 

And then there were bells and stars.

The little bitch had kicked him in the fucking head.

“How the fuck did you do that?” he asked. Or tried to ask. It came out more muddled than it had in his brain. 

“Eight years and two black belts in karate and tae kwon do,” she replied, kneeling beside him. “How many fingers?”

“I’d like two in your pussy,” he replied with a grin and she rolled her eyes. 

“That’s nice, dear, maybe later. How many fingers am I holding up?” Her hand moved in front of his face and Negan watched slowly, forcing his eyes to track. When she was satisfied with his answers, she kissed his mouth quickly and stood back up. “Still up for another round or should we stop?”

Negan stood up carefully and tilted his head back and forth until he was sure his balance was steady. “I’m game.”

She grinned at him. “Your turn for first strike.”

Negan narrowed his eyes. “I’m smarter than that, thanks. I’ve seen how fast you are.”

“Awww,” Saga pouted at him mockingly. “Is baby scared?”

His lips twitched into an amused smirk, rising to her challenge. “Not of you.”

“Liar.” She bounced on her toes. “C’mon and hit me, pussy.”

Negan jumped for her with a feint and she rolled to the side, pivoting around him on one leg while striking for his exposed kidney. He managed to avoid the strike and tried to sweep one leg under her. She actually giggled when she vaulted over his kick and struck out with her foot for his face again. This time, he saw it coming and one arm snapped up to block her kick. He was fast enough on the strike and a follow-up grab that he managed to actually get a hold of her ankle at his shoulder height and she yelped, swinging out of the air with her arms out. She tried to swing her free leg over in another kick, but her momentum was off and Negan chuckled, holding her out by her ankles over the dusty ground. “Give up?”

“Hell, no!” she shot back, her hair lofting up and away from her face. She doubled up with an impressive core crunch that brought her hands to his belt and Negan tried to jump backwards with a little cry when she went for his crotch. “Tickle, tickle,” she grinned at him.

“You are a crazy woman,” he laughed. Something in her face changed and Negan paused. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You did.” Her eyes went hard and Negan suddenly felt like he was holding the opposite end of a very angry tiger. “Fucker, you meant that.”

“I didn’t,” he protested quickly, still holding her out by her ankles. She struggled, starting to kick her feet and Negan winced in frustration. “Saga, stop. Please, I don’t want to drop you. Calm down.”

“I am fucking calm!” she screamed at him and kicked again. He lost his grip and she kicked out and back, managing a backflip that landed her on her feet a few paces away from him, her hands up in fists. “Say it again, bitch.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again!” she screamed, bouncing forward with her hands ready to hit.

Negan sighed and dropped his hands, closed his eyes, and waited. “I didn’t mean it, Saga. I didn’t. You know that.” 

Saga pulled back, breathing hard, one fist raised to strike at him. But he wasn’t moving. And he wasn’t defending. Finally, she broke down with an angry cry and slammed both fists against his chest. Negan’s hands came up quickly to catch her wrists and she let him hold her, finally letting herself sob as he gathered her against his chest. “I’m not crazy,” she gasped through the sobs.

“I know,” he whispered back and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Negan ran his hand through her hair and held her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, Saga.” When there was movement nearby, he kissed her temple and whispered, “We need to go.” She nodded and he carefully maneuvered her out of the public areas until he found a quiet way back to the penthouse. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping at her eyes angrily. “Just… I’m fine.”

 

***

 

Before, everything had been easier. 

She had gone to school. Gone to church. She’d been almost normal. 

She supposed the medication had helped with that. She had hated taking it because it made her feel so spacy, but it had made it easier to sidestep the compulsion, the draw of fire and the cleansing of blood. It had been easier to go a few days without.

Now, she was always without. 

Without food. Without water.

Without medication.

Without people.

Without pain.

When she was without for too long, she had to manufacture it. The pain. The release.

The fire worked best for that. It didn’t hurt, but it let the pressure out like steam out of an opened valve. The little mechanical parts of putting together kindling, lighting matches or lighter, making it glow. Watching that little bit of flame grow until it consumed what she gave it and warmed her face, dried her eyes, curled her hair. That moment when it could overtake her offerings and take her instead was when she felt her highest release and was the moment when she could dowse the fire again. 

If it would dowse. Because sometimes she waited too long for that release and things went beyond what she could control. 

Loss of control ruined the high.

And then she had to spill blood.

The blade on her skin let her focus down that regret for the loss of control into something she could control. Blade on skin shedding her blood let her find herself and her release again. It hurt, but that was the point. To hurt. 

She had found her nest between the un-living fence and the inner fence of gardens and groves when she rolled in through the front gate after a supply run had returned from the outside. Hera had been watching these supply runs for a while, maybe a week. She had seen how regularly they went out, where they went, how they operated. She’d even seen Negan on a few of them.

Seeing him had been surreal, even by her definitions. Her uncle, in leather and denim, wielding a gun and a wickedly barbed bat. She’d resisted the association at first, insisting it had to be someone else, someone who looked a little like him. But when she’d heard his men calling him by name, she couldn’t deny it any more.

When she knew it was him, that he had survived and still breathed, she knew where she needed to be: as close to him as her mind would let her get. She was still afraid of him, afraid of his men. So much had changed, both with him and with herself that she wasn’t sure they could ever go back to the milk-and-cookies place between them again. Her mother had told her Lucy had cancer, that when Hera was better, they would go visit her. But Hera hadn’t gotten better. And the doctors wouldn’t let her go anywhere. Especially not to visit a woman even sicker than herself.

So she stole from him. Like she had as a child.

Taking cookies.

Hoping he’d look and laugh and offer her a glass of milk.


	4. Chapter 4

Mal crouched alongside a few of Negan’s people as they explored the area around the entrance to the Sanctuary’s no-mans-land of wire between fence and zombies. “There are a lot of tracks here,” Mal said. “I wonder how long she’s been making raids.”

“We’ve had fires like this for about two weeks,” one of the Saviors said. Mal glanced at him and squinted before pulling his sunglasses back down over his eyes. “Noah,” the man supplied quickly. “The first few weren’t much, just a smear of smoke and ash along the fence. They’ve been getting worse, though.”

Mal considered and walked down the corridor toward where he had first seen the charred edges of the garden. “So she’s been targeting food supplies?”

“Not until the last couple of days or so,” Noah said. “First time we had a bad one, it was closer to the weapons lockers.”

Mal raised his eyebrows. “She knows where the supplies are kept? Do you have anyone who got kicked out of the community? Or someone who’s gone missing?”

Noah snorted, “You don’t really get kicked out of the Sanctuary as much as strung up with the fence walkers or put down politely in a pine box.”

Mal studied his face and frowned. “Not much for live and let live, are you people?”

Noah twitched his lips into an ironic smile. “Considering who you run with…?”

“We usually don’t kill people for just wanting to go their own way,” Mal snapped, then shook his head and returned to studying the ground. Noah left him to it as the rest of their team spread out into the no-mans-land, looking for more signs of anything unusual. Mal found a trail of strangely patterned footprints, like someone had been duck-walking low to the ground for several feet and followed them until they became something more like kneeling scuffs with handprints. Following it, he discovered a discarded book of empty matches and picked it up, turning it over his fingers thoughtfully. The kindling near the scorched garden had been small and had clear signs that she had tried to put it out again. It seemed strange, almost like there was regret there. “Who are you?” he murmured to himself thoughtfully.

 

***

 

Her best birthday ever had been when she turned fourteen. She’d finally been on medication, something to help reduce the urges to burn and cut. She was seeing someone, a shrink who helped her talk through the urges and impulses. She was feeling better, getting better. So much better that her mother had agreed to a little birthday party. Lucy and Negan were there, and a few kids from school.

Negan had given her a lighter. It was like someone had lit up her whole brain with fire and joy, a beautiful release she could never get again. She had looked at him and smiled so brightly that her mother had done a double-take, finally seeing the sleek little Zippo in her hand. 

That had ended the party. It had ended in screaming and confusion and grief as her mother had thrown everyone out and snatched the lighter away from her. 

She still remembered slamming the door to her room and watching Negan and Lucy fighting by the car on the street below their apartment. She had cried so hard because she could tell Negan was trying to apologize. He hadn’t known it was wrong. Only that she liked lighters.

He had known that she would like the lighter. So he had bought it for her. That’s all.

She could hear movement outside her nest.

Brought out of her memories, she slipped to the entrance and peered out, wiping muddy tears away from her face. Thinking about the past always made her feel those emotions again, like no time had passed. 

There were men out there.

Panic gripped her and she flattened herself into the soil, struggling to control her breath. She watched them, five men in leather and canvas and denim. Carrying weapons. Not all of them, but most of them. They were Negan’s men, no doubt. Nobody else would could out this way. And they were looking.

Looking for her.

Hera pushed her face into the dirt and took a long, slow breath of the earthy smell of soil and rotting leaves and ash. When she looked up again, she saw that most of the men had moved off to the North, leaving her hiding place untouched. But one was crouched near where she’d set her last fire, too close to home. His hair was bright blue and he kept a pair of sunglasses on, either pulled down his nose to look over the top or pushed up onto his head. But they never came off entirely. He was tall and lean, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt with a Carhartt jacket over it. 

His head came up and he looked at her.

Right at her.

She knew him then, the man who had touched her. The one who caught up to her.

His eyes were kind.

Hera held completely still, feeling like a rabbit in the presence of a predator, a deer staring down the lights of an oncoming truck. Maybe if I don’t move, he won’t see me. His head tilted and his eyes slid to the side of her hiding place. She exhaled and closed her eyes, letting her chin rest back in the soil. At the movement, though, his eyes snapped back to her. She wanted to scream, wanted to run. But there was no back door for her. 

 

***

 

Mal could see her now, dirty auburn hair almost the same color as the rotten leaves that covered the entrance to her hole. Bright blue-green eyes stared at him when he focused on her and he knew she was scared. The terror in her eyes was almost overwhelming and he bit his lip, glancing to where Noah and the other Saviors were still making slow sweeps over the ground for tracks. Finally, when he was sure they’d moved far enough away, he crept over to where the entrance to her hole seemed to be, turned himself around so his back was to her and sat down in the dirt. “My name is Mal and I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said in an undertone, more to himself than anyone else.

“Men always hurt.” Her voice was low and raspy, wary and distrustful.

“Then I must not be a man,” he answered softly. “I don’t hurt people. Even when they hurt me, I don’t.” She didn’t answer, so he sat in silence for a little while before saying, “What’s your name?”

“Hera.”

“Like the goddess.”

“Fire and flame, hearth and home,” she whispered back.

“Wasn’t Hestia the goddess of hearth and home?”

“Bitch stole it.”

Mal grinned, “I thought it was the other way around. Hestia was the older goddess of hearth and home and then the Romans came and rolled all of that up with Hera and Juno later.”

Movement made him tilt his head towards the entrance and he saw her head as she wriggled out to stare at him. “You know mythology.”

“I know a lot of stuff,” he agreed quietly. He waited and watched her as she studied his face, his clothes, his body language. Finally, he said in a low voice, “Hera, I swear I won’t hurt you. But you need to come with me. You can’t stay out here.”

“No.” She flattened back into the dirt and Mal had to turn his head quickly to see where she went. To his surprise, she had just flopped flush with the ground: her clothes and hair were all the same color as the ground and she was almost perfectly camouflaged there. “Men hurt. They always hurt.”

Mal watched her for a few seconds, puzzling. Her voice and face seemed older, maybe in her early twenties, but the cadence of her voice, the way she formed her sentences sounded so much younger. She sounded like she was barely into her teens. “Hera, how old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

She was quiet for a while, then said in a thoughtful tone, “I was an adult when the dead rose. Legally. Because the state wouldn’t pay for me anymore. I had to get funding. So Mom was writing for grants. She couldn’t pay anymore. The money was gone.” Her face turned down into the dirt again and Mal wondered what she was babbling about. “I was an adult when Lucy got sick.”

Mal blinked. “Lucy?” Hera shied away from him at the interest in his voice and Mal cursed himself. “Hera, wait,” he said quickly, but with a shifting of leaves, she was gone.

 

***

 

“Find anything?” Saga asked as Mal’s search party came back inside the gates around dinnertime. 

“Nothing,” sighed Noah, shaking his head. “But it looks like she’s living between the fence and the chompers. Not sure how or where, but she’s out there somewhere.” 

As he walked away, Saga looked at Mal, who smiled. Saga slowly raised an eyebrow, then glanced around for watching eyes before walking to the side of the courtyard and ordering him down to his knees. He went immediately and let his forehead rest against her body as she stroked her fingers through his hair. “I found her,” he whispered. “She says she’s twenty-two, but she seems younger. Her name is Hera. She’s not right, Saga. She’s terrified of men, says they ‘always hurt.’ I think she’s been hurt somehow, not sure if it’s her head or her body. But something’s wrong. I don’t want to bring her to Negan. I think she might trust me and I think she’d trust you more. Negan will scare the shit out of her.”

Saga was quiet for a while, still stroking his hair. “Hera. Not Helen?”

“She said Hera, like the goddess. But she made the mythology reference, too. It might be an affectation.” Mal let out a slow breath, surprised to find that he was shaking a little. “Saga, I want to bring her to you. Or you to her. I think it’s important that she be yours.”

“Why?”

“She’s hurt. And alone.”

Saga curled her fingers into his hair and pulled his head back until he was looking up at her, breathing hard from the angle she’d put his neck at. “Why do you think that would matter to me?”

Mal met her eyes and Saga found herself smiling at the steady expression she saw there. “Because of the robin.”

Slowly, thoughtfully, Saga leaned down and pressed her mouth to his in a long kiss. He exhaled through his nose and she smiled at him when she let him go. “Good boy. Keep tabs on her. I’ll see when I can get away to search with you.” She kissed his forehead, then stepped back and away to return to whatever she had been working on before.

Mal stayed on his knees for a while, his eyes closed and his breathing still ragged. His pants were uncomfortable and he almost hated himself for how easily she could manipulate him. But he was hers, heart, soul, and body. And she knew it.

They had found the robin six months back, its wing broken and its head half-bashed in from colliding with one of the few remaining panes of clear glass in the world. Manda had still been with them, missing her foot at the ankle after having to let Saga chop it off; the injury Saga had delivered when they had first met up had gone gangrenous within a few days. She slowed them down and made them a target with her constant whining, but she was still family and Mal couldn’t bring himself to leave her behind. Manda had found the bird, cooing over it and holding it close. “We should try to make it better.”

Saga had looked supremely disgusted and made a motion like she would crush the bird’s skull. Manda had screamed in horror and dropped the bird, hobbling away to sob in the bushes. But once everyone else was out of sight, Saga had scooped the bird up and stroked its damaged head. She had caught Mal watching her and they had shared a quiet smile before she splinted the wing and tucked it into a pocket of her jacket. 

Mal had kept her secret, helping her care for the bird until its wing was healed. It was never right, though, with a horrible wobble and apparently damaged vision from the impact. When they tried several times to release it, only to have it fall helpless to the ground and flop there, Saga had finally given up and quietly crushed its skull. 

She had cried for almost two weeks. Quietly. In the night. During the day, she was Saga. But at night, she cried for the bird she couldn’t save.

That’s how he knew she would protect Hera. She would see the same thing he had: a broken bird in the wilderness. And if they couldn’t save her…

Saga would end it.


	5. Chapter 5

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out the ins and outs of the Sanctuary. Saga had always had a good sense of direction and an easy grasp of the internal layouts of buildings. She had quickly found her way to the locked roof access to the factory and slipped the locks. Good locks, too, not the cheap kind that most people used for roof access. Someone had been serious, back in the day. But they predated the apocalypse, so she figured she was safe enough going up there now.

The sun wasn’t up yet. Saga smiled to herself as she settled on the roof, stretched her arms over her head and laid out on her back. She watched as the sky changed from black to purple to mauve, then through shades of pink until there was finally pale blue in the pale pink. She had always loved sunrise.

She thought about what Mal had brought her: a broken bird in the shape of a young woman. Potentially someone important to Negan, but also potentially a bust in that department. But someone… who might have been crushed by this world, shattered. Like she might have been without the steady access to meds she’d had. Someone without the chemical composition to hold up under the pressure of death and demoralization.

Someone broken. As broken as the robin’s wing, as dizzy as that poor bird’s head.

Saga sighed and closed her eyes. She wanted to go out immediately, find the girl and know everything. She didn’t want to be patient, to slip away from Negan and find the time to take her time. She wanted the instant download option of the girl’s whole life story in a second, freeze-dried and bite sized. Negan wasn’t the only one who disliked not knowing. It made her restless.

What Mal had described didn’t sound like Saga’s diagnosis. She considered what she knew: the girl was hiding out in the no-mans-land between a dangerous group of men and an undead wall of flesh. She expressed fear of men because they ‘always hurt’ but had been curious enough about Mal to talk to him. If she really was Negan’s niece, Helen, she had pyromaniac tendencies, a fascination with setting fires and compulsive habits. So many things still needed to be answered, the very least of which was Hera’s actual identity.

Saga rolled to her feet with a grunt and headed back down to the penthouse. Negan was still asleep, face-down in the bed and apparently limp with exhaustion. He’d had a rough day and today wasn’t looking much better. Saga smiled to herself and paused to run a hand slowly over his muscled shoulders, drawing a soft, curious sound from him. “It’s just me,” she whispered.

“Even better,” he murmured back and rolled towards her. “What are you doing up so fucking early?”

“Watching sunrise.” Saga smiled at the surprise in his eyes. “What, I like beautiful things sometimes, too.” She traced his brow with the tip of a finger and grinned when he looked pleased. “Actually, I had a question. When you were talking about Helen, you said you gave her a lighter?” Negan winced and nodded, remembering. “What kind?”

“Zippo,” he replied, tucking one arm behind his head. “The smooth-action type, y’know? I remembered them being fun to play with as a kid, so thought she’d like it, too.”

Saga looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Do you know if anyone around has one?”

Negan raised an eyebrow at her, curious. “Yeah… I think Dwight has one. Why?”

She kissed him quickly and smiled. “No reason. I’ll see you later.”

***

Mal waited by the front gate, leaning against the fence and watching the sun as it slowly crept into the sky. He felt a hand on his back, touching him the way only Saga could. He smiled quietly, then looked back at her. She held up a Zippo lighter. “This will be our litmus.”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“I need to know who she is. If she knows this lighter, then I’ve got something to work with.” Saga kissed his cheek lightly and strode out the front gate into the cleared corridor outside. Without more information, Mal shrugged and followed her. “Where did you see her?”

Mal led Saga down the fence to where he had found the matchbook and later spotted Hera watching him. “She was here,” he said, crouching near the flattened area of leaves and mud. “When I scared her, she just… kind of vanished, so she might have a dug out into a tunnel or something.” Carefully, they cleared the leaves until they found the shallow entrance to a burrow. “Damn.”

“She’s living underground,” Saga agreed thoughtfully. “I wonder how deep this goes.”

“God, she’s tiny,” Mal grunted as he reached his arm down into the hole. “There’s no way I could get through here.”

“I suspect it’s intentional,” Saga said, her voice low. “If men always hurt her, keeping her burrow so small that men have difficulty following her makes sense.”

“What do you think happened to her?” Mal asked sadly.

“She was probably raped,” Saga sighed, rocking back on her heels. “I hate to jump to that conclusion, but when it’s focused on men the way it is… it’s hard to imagine what else it could have been.”

“People are sick,” grumbled Mal and Saga nodded agreement. They sat in silence beside the entrance to the tunnel for a few minutes before Mal said quietly, “Should we try to dig her out, you think? Or should we wait?”

“If you want her to trust us, we wait.”

Mal nodded. “You want me to make a run to the kitchen?”

“That’d be nice.” Saga folded her legs under her and settled into the dirt with a smile. “I’ll be right here.”

***

There was someone sitting outside her nest.

Hera laid herself flat against the soil and tried to soak up the familiar, comforting smells of earth and leaves. Finally, when she felt as close to herself as she could get, she wriggled forward until she could see the intruder more clearly.

It was a woman. A pretty woman with short, strawberry-blonde hair falling around her face. She was wearing a leather jacket over what looked like it might be a sweater and canvas cargo pants patched at the knees, seat, and hips with duct tape and leather. She sat easily, legs crossed and hands on her knees, her head tipped back to the sky while the breeze ruffled her hair. Hera crept closer and realized she knew the woman: she had come in with Negan’s most recent caravan, along with the blue-haired boy.

“Who do you belong to, little bird?” the woman’s voice drifted back to her and Hera flattened down again, surprised. She didn’t answer and just waited to see what happened next. The woman began to hum something, a soft tune with precise notes that Hera thought she might recognize. After a little while, the woman slowly reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulled out something that glinted in the light. “You could belong to me, you know,” she murmured softly as she put her hand back down in the soil, the lighter held loosely in her fingers. “You could be mine and no one would ever hurt you again.”

“People don’t belong to other people,” Hera found herself saying. Her fingers itched to snatch the shiny object from the woman, not even sure what it was. Just that she wanted it.

“They can if they want to,” the woman replied. “Mal, the boy you met yesterday. He belongs to me. Because he wants to.” She turned her head slowly until Hera could see the edges of her eyelashes. Very slowly, her fingers shifted the object around until she could flip open the top and Hera froze, staring as Saga flicked the flame into existence. “You can belong to me, too. If you want.”

It was a Zippo. Like the one her uncle had given her. Not the same lighter because she still had that one, stored close to her skin in one of her socks. She never used it for fear of losing it. But she had it. She’d never lose it.

But to have another… she could use a different one. And not worry about losing it. She found her fingers creeping out of hiding, reaching for the shining surface, the flickering flame. The woman’s hand flicked slightly and the flame vanished, as did the lighter into her palm. Hera tried to stifle her own voice as she cried out, lunging after it. “No!”

Saga put her other hand out quickly and touched the back of Hera’s wrist. They stared at each other for a moment and Hera felt light-headed staring into those crystal blue eyes. It was like staring at the sky until you lost your bearing and felt like you were falling up, and up, and up eternally into the blueness. “Be mine,” Saga whispered, her voice intense and Hera stared at her. “Come with me, honey. I’ll keep you safe.”

Hera couldn’t pull away. Her hand had landed close enough to Saga’s that she could feel the edge of the lighter there, cool against her skin. Without meaning to, she started to cry. “But… they’ll hurt me. They always hurt.” She could feel the tears cutting through the mud on her face and reached to scrub them away, mixing everything to an even coat of mud again. “But I miss him.”

Saga paused for a long moment, then whispered, “Negan.” Hera nodded helplessly as the tears came harder. “Oh, honey, come with me. He won’t hurt you. He couldn’t.”

“But men always hurt,” she whispered back.

“Negan won’t. He doesn’t.” When she managed to drag herself out of the hole, Saga collected Hera against her chest and held her tightly, kissed her forehead and rocked her. “He never hurts women, honey. Never.”

“The others–”

“Won’t touch you,” Saga hissed and there was such venom in her voice that Hera jerked back in surprise. Their eyes met again and Hera knew it was true: no one would touch her if she belonged to this woman. She would be safe.

Finally.

“Come with me,” she whispered again.

And Hera collapsed against her, sobbing quietly. “Keep me. Please. Keep me.”

“I will,” Saga whispered and kissed her filthy cheek like it had been bathed in rosewater.

***

Negan glared at Mal as he stood in the kitchen. “She’s where?”

“She went looking for your firebug,” Mal said. “She wanted to walk the perimeter.” When Negan continued to glare, Mal shrugged helplessly, “Nobody tells Saga what to do. Especially not me.”

“Negan!” Leo slammed the door to the kitchen open, eyes wild. “Something’s happening at the gate!”

Negan gave Mal one more quick glare before running after Leo. “What’s going on?”

“Saga is trying to bring someone inside.”

“And you’re stopping her?” Leo looked embarrassed. Negan roared, “Fucking let her in!”

At the gate, they found several Saviors cranking the gate shut again after Saga and her mud-caked company. From where he was standing, Negan couldn’t even tell if it was a woman or a man under all the mud, but from the way she was clinging to Saga, he guessed female. Saga was snarling and snapping at everyone who came near, telling them to back off and stay away while her guest trembled in her arms.

“Saga?” he called as he came to a stop.

And the girl looked up.

Lucille’s eyes. She had Lucille’s eyes, blue-green instead of brown, but still. The shape. The set of her face. He felt like someone had kicked him in the nuts and his knees gave out without his permission. “Helen.”

Tears burst out of her and she screamed for him, an inarticulate, animal sound that sounded like it ripped something in her throat as she came sprinting across the clearing between them and threw herself into his arms. Negan hugged her tight, still stunned and reeling. He sat back hard on his butt in the dust and just hugged her, this girl, this only link back to the woman he’d lost and let down. All he had of Lucille.

Distantly, Negan could hear Saga barking orders and the shuffling feet of people moving away. The clearing became very quiet, the only sound Helen’s sobs and his own ragged breathing. Once he’d sorted himself out, he pulled back to look at her, cupping her filthy face in his palm. “Doll, what happened to you?”

“Men.” She didn’t meet his eyes and it broke his heart to hear that word come from her mouth.

“They won’t happen again,” he whispered with a savage edge in his voice and pulled her back to his chest. She wound herself around him and just sobbed. Negan could feel Saga nearby and looked up into her face, surprised to find tears clouding his vision. “Thank you.”

“You’re mine,” Saga whispered back, leaning down to kiss him. “And so is she. I keep what’s mine.”

“Keep me!” wailed the girl in his arms and Negan blinked, surprised.

Saga smiled quietly and reached down to stroke Helen’s hair with a tenderness that Negan watched with a little pang of envy. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m keeping you. I promise.” She paused to look at him and Negan felt a strange, disorienting dizzy feeling in his stomach. “You’re mine,” she said, but she wasn’t talking to him this time. She leaned down and kissed his niece’s forehead and stood up with a smile on her face like she was holding all the aces.

Negan wondered if maybe she really was.


	6. Chapter 6

Her uncle carried her. Cradled against his strong chest like a baby, he carried her into the building she’d been stalking for weeks. She couldn’t stop crying. He wasn’t hurting her. He wouldn’t hurt her. He’d keep the others from hurting her.

She had a home again.

 

***

 

Negan walked carefully to the infirmary with his niece cradled to his chest, listening to her sobs. The longer she cried, the more his heart broke in a way he didn’t even know it could anymore. He wanted to find whoever had done this to her and kill them. Slowly. Maybe over a few days. But this was not okay. To do whatever had been done, to a girl little more than a child… 

“You’re gritting your teeth,” Saga said quietly and he felt her put a hand on his back. 

“So?”

“It sounds like it hurts.”

Negan considered, then nodded slightly, acknowledging the ache in his jaw. “I guess. I’m just so fucking pissed about this. Who the fuck would hurt a girl? She’s not even fucking sixteen.”

“Twenty-two,” she whispered and Negan looked down at her in surprise.

“What?”

“I’m twenty-two, Uncle Negan.”

“Fuck.” He looked at her for a long moment and realized that the face under the caked mud and smeared tears was quite a bit older than he’d remembered her. With her carried in his arms like this, he couldn’t wipe any of the mud away. When she looked up and sniffled, he was struck again by how much her eyes looked like Lucille’s. She must take after her mother. “Where have you been, honey?”

“Deep,” she whispered and laid her cheek against his chest again, fingers curled tightly into his shirt. She sniffed once more and then Negan felt her go completely limp against him with a soft sigh. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” he muttered.

“It could mean anything,” Saga answered softly, her hand still on his back. “She’s been through something major. Was she like this before?”

“Fucked if I know,” Negan grumbled. As they came into the infirmary, he stretched the girl out on a gurney stolen from who knows where. Movement within the small room preceded a blonde girl with her hair in a high ponytail and a lab coat over t-shirt and jeans. “Christie. Good. You’re here.”

She dropped quickly to one knee, then popped back up again before saying, “Yes, sir. How can I help?”

Negan waved his hands at Helen on the gurney. “This is my niece. I don’t know if she’s hurt or sick or what. But I know she needs help.” He paused to look at the nurse who had become their doctor solemnly for a moment. “Anything you need for her, you tell me. I’ll get it.”

Christie nodded seriously and reached to brush Helen’s hair back from her face. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” She chewed her lip for a second, then added, “Do you… think maybe I could have a guard?”

“I’ll guard her,” Saga said. 

Negan exhaled and nodded. “Tell me if you need anything, either of you.” He paused to stroke Saga’s face and she smiled at him, her eyes half-closed as she leaned against his palm. “Don’t stay all fucking night?” he whispered, his voice heavy with an ache Saga recognized. 

“I’ll stay until she’s awake,” Saga whispered back. “If she needs me, I will stay. If she needs you, I’ll send for you.” She reached up to stroke Negan’s face and smiled. “I take care of what’s mine, Negan.”

Roughly, he pulled her into a kiss that left her breathless when he finally let go. “I’m yours,” he breathed and she grinned. 

“I know.” She stroked her fingers through his hair and gave it a little tug, making him close his eyes with a low groan. “I’ll take care of what’s mine, Negan. Take care of what’s yours. I’ll send word when she wakes up.” When he opened his eyes again, she smiled. “You should really thank Mal for his help on this. He’s the one who found her and showed me where.”

“Fuck-stick with the blue hair?”

“That’s him.”

Negan nodded, then leaned down to kiss her again. Saga kept her hold on his hair, her lips curling into a smile when he stopped, breathing lightly against her lips. He let out a low, frustrated growl before she released him and he found her mouth hungrily. “I’ll make sure he gets a fucking nod,” he growled in her ear, then kissed her neck quickly and stepped back. “Later, doll.”

Saga watched him go, then smiled to herself and turned back to Christie, who was staring at her with wide, nervous eyes. “How can I help?”

“I-I can take care of her,” Christie stuttered nervously. “I’m just worried someone might… y’know. Since she’s Negan’s niece.”

“No one will hurt her,” Saga murmured. “And let me help.” She paused to let the words sink in before she added, “Please.”

Christie nodded, then pointed to the cabinet. “There are washcloths in there. If you could run some warm water, we can get her washed up, see if there’s bruising or any other injuries.” She turned back to where Helen was lying on the gurney, then asked, “Do you know her name?”

“Negan says it’s Helen,” Saga replied as she retrieved washcloths from the cupboard and started the water running. “She says it’s Hera.” She filled a bucket with warm water and brought the cloths over to the side of the gurney before she helped Christie carefully peel the filthy flannel shirt from the girl’s body. 

“My god,” breathed Christie when they managed to get the shirt off. “She’s… gross.”

“Watch your mouth,” snapped Saga. “You don’t know how awake she is.” She soaked a washcloth in the warm water and began bathing Helen’s face, wiping away the crusted mud and ash. Christie started doing the same with the mud and filth covering her hands and arms. As they bathed her, Helen turned her head toward Saga with a soft sound and Saga smiled, stroking her cheek with the warm rag. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m right here, honey.”

“Mama?” whispered Helen and Saga chuckled.

“No, honey. Saga.” She bathed Helen’s face again tenderly. “How are you feeling?”

Helen closed her eyes again with a soft sigh. “Uncle Negan’s here.”

“He is,” agreed Saga quietly. 

“He still loves me.” 

Saga laughed in a low voice and pressed her lips to Helen’s forehead. “Of course he does.”

“Did the world kill Lucy?”

Saga tilted her head to study Helen’s face, her closed eyes, the lashes long against her still-dirty cheeks. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped at the mud some more, gentle and focused. “I don’t know, honey. Who was Lucy?”

“My mama’s sister.” She sighed again and Saga smiled, watching the young woman relax under her hands. “She loved me.”

“I love you,” Saga whispered and Helen’s eyes popped open in surprise. Christie shifted nervously, glancing up and then away as she kept washing Helen’s hands with the towel. “You’re mine,” she whispered, “and I only keep what I love. I’m keeping you, Helen. You’re mine.”

The girl looked into her face for a moment, then whispered, “Hera. I’m Hera. The world killed Helen. Like it killed Lucy.” She fell silent, then tears worked their way down her cheeks as she gasped, “Saga, will you keep me if I’m Hera?”

“If you’re Hera,” Saga murmured back as she carefully patted the washcloth over her tears, wiping them away, “I will keep you. Because you’re mine. And I love you.” 

Christie shied away when Saga pressed her lips to Hera’s in a gentle kiss. Hera went completely limp at first, then started to cry harder and wrapped herself around Saga’s neck as she kissed her back. “Keep me,” she begged against the older woman’s lips, clinging to her. “Please, Saga. Keep me.”

Saga stroked the girl’s hair back and smiled. “I’m going to keep you, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry. You’re mine and I’m keeping you.” After another few moments of wiping Hera’s face with the cloth, she stood back a little and looked up to where Christie was trying not to look at them. “Did you want to check if there’s anything wrong?”

“Sure.” Christie shook herself, then came over to the table and began checking Hera’s vitals. When Saga stepped away, Hera whimpered softly and looked after her. With a sigh, Saga returned and slipped her fingers over Hera’s forehead. “Pulse is normal,” Christie reported softly. “Blood pressure’s a little low. Honey, can you sit up for me?” Hera struggled up into a sitting position and Saga helped her sit there, one hand gently on her back. Christie checked her breathing, her lung sounds, then finally asked, “Honey, does anything hurt?”

Hera lifted her head slowly and looked Christie in the face, her blue-green eyes full of tears. “Everything,” she whispered. “Everything hurts.” 

Christie stared at her, then looked up at Saga, lost as what to do. Saga sighed and gathered Hera against her chest. “Hera,” she said softly, “we need to know what is physically wrong. If anything. Can you tell us? Is there anything we can do to make it stop hurting?”

“Men hurt me,” Hera finally whispered, her eyes closed. “Men always hurt.”

“Hurt you how, honey?” Saga murmured against her hair.

Hera reached down and pushed at her waistband, tears spilling down her face. “Everywhere,” she whispered. “They touched me. And hit me. And they fucked me.” Her voice broke on the last one and she started to shake with sobs again as Saga pulled her tightly close. “They always hurt me, Saga. Every man. All of them.”

Saga sighed and kissed her forehead again, cradling her. “Except Negan. And Mal. They haven’t hurt you. And they won’t.” When Hera hiccuped and burrowed her face into Saga’s shoulder, she smiled. “I won’t let them hurt you. And Negan won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe, honey. You’re home.”

 

***

 

Mal was going over the last of the things in storage from the last run before he turned back toward where he and the rest of Saga’s crew were sleeping. When he turned, he found that Negan was leaning against the door frame. Their eyes met and Mal dropped quickly to one knee. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Negan replied quietly without moving. “Saga said I owed you a thank you.” When Mal didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “You tracked down Helen. You found her, talked to her first. You brought Saga to her.” Mal nodded slowly and Negan took a long, shaking breath. “Thank you. She’s my niece. I had no fucking clue she was still alive. She’s all the fucking family I’ve got left. So. Thank you.” He gave an exaggerated bow, then smiled slightly. “You want my thanks in points or position?”

Mal raised his eyebrows. “Not sure I follow.”

“You’re not a fucking idiot,” Negan shot back. “You want fucking shit or you want a cushy job?”

“I belong to Saga,” Mal replied in a low voice. “All I want is to belong to her.” They stared at each other for a few moments, then Mal added, “Let me stay next to Saga and that’s all I need.”

“Fine.” Negan nodded once, then turned toward the hallway. He paused and looked over his shoulder. “You sweet on her pussy?”

Mal felt himself starting to blush at the comment and grinned sheepishly. “When she lets me be,” he replied quietly. Negan laughed at that and nodded before walking away. Mal watched him go, then sagged back against a stack of boxes before remembering the other thing he might have asked for. “Shit.” He stood up again and trotted out after Negan. “Sir?”

Negan wheeled around in the hallway to look at him. “Yeah?”

“How’s Hera?”

“Hera?” Negan raised an eyebrow slowly.

Mal shifted his feet and tried to fight the blush on his cheeks. “She… your niece told me her name was Hera. I was just wondering how she is. And if maybe I could go visit her?”

Negan shrugged, a long, fluid motion that seemed to start somewhere around his hips. “If she said her name is Hera, I guess it’s Hera, but I always fucking knew her as Helen. She’s pretty beat up, but she’s up in the infirmary with Christie and Saga. If Saga lets you in, you’re welcome to visit her.” He studied Mal for a moment, then smiled. “You sweet on my girl’s pussy, too?”

Mal flinched back from the question, blushing harder. “Just worried about her, sir. She seemed like she’d had it rough.”

“Well, she sure as fuck had that,” Negan agreed with a sigh. “She kept screamin’ about men doing this to her. I swear, if I ever find the fucks who hurt her, they won’t see the light of day for the rest of their short, miserable, shit-eating lives.”

“If you find them,” Mal said in a low voice, “please let me help with that.”

Negan looked him over, then smiled and nodded. “I’ll give you a fucking call.” He patted Mal on the shoulder, then walked away again.


	7. Chapter 7

Negan leaned on the fence and stared out at the no-man’s land between fence and the staggering undead who made up their external boundaries. Helen--Hera had survived out there for who knew how long, all on her own. Among the dead put there to protect them. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the chain link. Lucille would have killed him if she knew he’d let her niece stay out there so long. His only hope right now was that there was nothing physically wrong with her. There were all kinds of things wrong with her brain, that much was obvious, but if her body was okay, he knew they could find a way to rescue her brain. 

He considered that thought for a while. The dead rising up to walk again would be enough to make anyone feel crazy, but what kind of effect had this strange new world had on those who were already fragile, mentally? Was it a confirmation of everything the paranoid schizophrenics had feared about the world? Were the dissociatives feeling more connected to a world bereft of logic or less connected? He closed his eyes again and sighed. He knew a little about psychology from his training to be a teacher, but nothing even close to this level of care. He wondered if anyone who was living here had the training. He would have to ask around. 

“Hey, boss.” He looked up from his thoughts to regard Simon as the other man approached. “How’s the munchkin?”

“Older than I remember.” Negan smiled and shook his head, then shrugged. “She’s damaged goods, Simon. But she’s my damaged goods and I’m not letting her go.”

“Family still has power,” Simon agreed, then gave his leader a long look. “In more ways than one.”

“Saga’s watching her,” said Negan. “She’s safe.”

Simon nodded slowly without any sign of his tension easing. “Boss, I know how you are about Saga, but are you sure she’s the best one to leave with your niece?” Negan narrowed his eyes and his jaw tightened as he watched his lieutenant without answering. Simon shifted uncomfortably under Negan’s gaze, but pushed onward. “I mean, I heard about Saga from some of the boys, Dwight mostly. It seems like whatever Saga wants, Saga gets and she did come in pretty much announcing to everyone that the girl was hers. Are you sure you know what that means?”

“Fucking talk plain and talk fast,” Negan growled quietly and Simon raised his hands in defense, taking a step back. Negan pivoted to lean his back against the chain link fence and watched the emotions crossing Simon’s expressive face. “You’re talking about my new toy and my niece here. I’m listening but it won’t last long.”

Simon rubbed his hands on his jeans and sighed. “I’m just saying that it seems like Saga’s got her own agenda. Obviously, you know what’s going on better than I do. I barely know her, boss. But she makes me uncomfortable.”

“She’d be fucking delighted to know that, Simon,” Negan smiled and reached to thump the other man on the shoulder, his demeanor cheerful again. “What’s Saga’s is mine,” he continued and started walking back toward the building. Simon fell into step beside him, looking thoughtful as Negan went on, “If she wants to say Helen’s hers, I don’t mind. It all comes back to me in the end.” When Simon didn’t respond, Negan glanced at him and added, “Do me a favor and ask around if anyone’s got shrink background or knows anything about crazy pills, the stuff they give out for brain problems and shit.”

“Will do, boss,” Simon said with a nod and angled off again, leaving Negan alone with his thoughts again.

 

***

 

There were hands on her skin, but they were gentle, female. Hera relaxed with her eyes closed as she listened to Saga humming softly and bathing her skin. She had sent away the doctor and they were alone now, just Hera and Saga. She was naked under a thin sheet and a coverlet, but she was surprised by how little that worried her. 

Saga loved her. There was no reason to be afraid.

“How are you feeling?” Saga asked in a musical voice that brought a slow smile to Hera’s lips. She hadn’t smiled in so long. The warm washcloth ran over her chest, her belly, wiping away the accumulated dirt and grime and sweat. “You’re looking more like a girl and less like a walker,” the woman added, her tone gently amused.

Hera opened her eyes and gazed up at Saga, watching the line of her jaw, the spray of freckles across her nose, the way her intense blue eyes glittered when she shifted her gaze. Her short hair hung just into her face, brushing her cheeks and Hera reached up to brush it back. “You need a trim,” she whispered.

Saga blinked in surprise and chuckled low in her throat. “I suppose I do. I’ve been trying to keep it short so nobody can get a grip on it.”

“I can.” Hera worked her fingers slowly around a lock of Saga’s hair and tugged gently. “Trim it, I mean. I know how. When they let me use scissors, I cut lots of hair.”

“Why wouldn’t they let you use scissors, honey?” Saga reached to pull Hera’s fingers out of her hair, a careful movement that made Hera realize how dirty her hands still were. She drew her hand to her chest, embarrassed, and closed her eyes again. How long had it been since her last fire? How long had she been asleep? Cool, soft fingers stroked her cheek and Hera flinched, opening her eyes again. Saga was watching her, her expression gentle. “Who wouldn’t let you use scissors?”

“The nurses,” Hera whispered. “Said I’d hurt someone. Hurt myself.” She tried to close her eyes again, but Saga’s gaze riveted her and she took a slow, shaking breath. “And I would. I don’t mean to. But people get hurt.”

“Is that what this is about?” Saga asked and turned Hera’s wrist over, showing the ladder marks of scars and slices visible on her skin. Her hands were gentle, but Hera still flinched back from her and tried to cover her face with her free hand, ashamed. “Honey, look at me. Hera.” When she said her name, Hera looked up again with a tiny gasp. Saga’s face was serious but still so kind as she leaned down and kissed Hera’s forehead. “Whatever happened to you, you’re still mine. I won’t stop loving you. I just want to know how I can help.”

Hera could feel her limbs trembling as she tried to find words. She looked up at Saga, who smiled. “If… if I go too long, I have to,” she finally whispered. “Or something will happen. I’ll shake apart or the world will get worse. Someone else will die or another kind thing will be killed. So, I have to.”

“Have to what, honey?”

Hera took her hands back and held them apart in front of her face, staring intently between her palms and then slowly expanding her hands outwards, bringing her wrists together at the pulse point so her fingers cupped upwards like a lotus flower. Like a fire. Her fingers wiggled and she let herself be briefly captivated by the motion, the memory of fire.

“You’ve been setting the fires,” Saga said, her voice low. Hera flinched, but nodded. “What do the fires have to do with this?” she asked and ran her thumb over Hera’s scarred wrist.

“If I can’t set a fire,” she whispered, “blood is required.”

The look on Saga’s face made Hera’s stomach flip uncomfortably. There was pity there, just like always when someone realized the depth of Hera’s damage, but there was anger there, too. Anger and sorrow and a fierceness that Hera couldn’t quite identify. Saga stroked her hand down Hera’s cheek and leaned down to kiss her again, on the lips at first and then deeper when Hera responded, tentative and hopeful. “Nothing will ever happen to you,” whispered Saga. “I’ll keep you safe. Negan will keep you safe. If you need to burn something, we’ll find a way to let you control it. But there will never be blood required again. I promise.”

Hope brought a flush to Hera’s face and she looked up at Saga, awestruck. “You promise.”

“I promise,” Saga repeated, her tone fierce. “You can use knives. And scissors. You won’t hurt anyone. Least of all yourself.” When tears started to trickle down her face, Saga leaned in and kissed her again. Hera curled her arms around her neck and returned the kiss, breathless and bursting with a hope she hadn’t felt in so long. Not since her mother had told her that Lucy was sick. Not since the dead rose. When the kiss started to edge into something more heated, Saga gently pulled back and put her hand on Hera’s forehead. “Slow down,” she whispered. “There’s no need to rush.” 

Disappointment made Hera’s cheeks flush and she looked down, her lips pressed together. “I’m sorry. I thought…”

“I’m not saying no,” Saga smiled, her thumb tracing Hera’s cheek. “I just don’t want to rush you. Or me. Do you like girls, Hera?” Hera thought about it with her cheek pressed against Saga’s palm. She was so gentle, so steady. Finally, Hera shrugged and turned her head to kiss Saga’s wrist. “Do you like boys?”

“I like you,” Hera whispered, which made Saga laugh, a musical sound that brought a satisfied warmth to Hera’s chest. “Can I just like you?”

“Of course you can,” Saga grinned and brushed her lips over Hera’s forehead again. “Do you just want to be mine? Or do you want me to share you?” When Hera flinched, Saga’s hand curled against her cheek again, stroking. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m just asking.”

Hera turned the thoughts over in her mind before looking up into Saga’s blue eyes again. “Do I have to share you?”

“Yes.” Saga brushed her thumb over Hera’s lips and Hera found herself instinctively following the touch. “You’re mine. But I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Not even Uncle Negan?”

Saga smiled and Hera felt an odd sensation at that smile, predatory and possessive all at once. “Your uncle is mine, too. Does that bother you?”

Uncle Negan belonged to Saga? In the same way Saga had offered to keep Hera? “You’ll keep him safe,” she whispered, her breath coming in a rush. “Nothing will hurt him? Nothing will kill the kindness in him if he’s yours, right?” The look on Saga’s face was almost confused, surprised and Hera found that tears were trickling down her cheeks. “Please, tell me you’ll keep his kindness safe, Saga. Please? I want that as much as I want to be yours. There’s so little kindness left.”

Saga was quiet for a while, then slipped one hand under Hera’s neck to lift her up and kiss her tenderly. “If you’ll be mine, Hera, I’ll protect your uncle’s kindness. I promise.” She paused for a moment, then smiled slowly. “Will you let me mark you as mine, Hera? So anyone else can see?”

“Yes.”

Saga gently rolled her onto her side and Hera relaxed, feeling Saga’s hands gently stroking her skin. The woman kissed her neck, then gently sank her teeth into the curve of Hera’s neck, where her neck joined her shoulder. With alternating bites and kisses, Hera fell into the sensation of being marked by this woman until she was breathless and panting. Saga chuckled softly and Hera barely even felt the tracing of a marker on her skin. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll make this more permanent,” Saga whispered. “I love you too much to want to make you hurt.”

“Thank you,” breathed Hera. She paused to consider for a second, then tried to cover the foolish grin that was creeping across her face. Saga saw it, though, and pulled her back to kiss her neck just behind the ear. 

“What’s that about?” Saga asked in a playful voice.

“I… never thought pain could feel good,” admitted Hera in a small voice. “But I liked that. Because you’re doing it.”

“Trust me,” Saga’s voice rippled against her skin. “That’s only the beginning.”

 

***

 

Saga slipped out of the infirmary when Christie came back, edging down the hallway to lean against the wall for a moment. The girl was magnetic, intoxicating. Saga hadn’t felt this kind of craving for someone’s touch in a long, long time. It wasn’t unlike her affinity for the girl’s uncle, which also raised some interesting troubles. How would Negan feel about her possession of his niece, in addition to her physical attraction?

And since when did such a consideration bother her? 

Saga sighed and closed her eyes.  _ Since I fell in love _ . Because it really was true: she loved Negan. It didn’t make sense or follow her internal logic or obey any of her personal rules, but it was still true. And as badly as she wanted the semi-religious worship that came as part of Hera’s sexual attraction, she knew she would forgo tasting that if it was something beyond Negan’s comfort zone. 

There was also the matter of her promise to Hera: that she would protect Negan’s “kindness.” She had seen enough of the man now to know that he was a reasonable person, a leader with strict rules he held to even when he didn’t want to. He thrived on the control and the fear, the elements of manipulation that allowed him to apply pressure in one place and get the results he wanted in another. She recognized that in him, since it wasn’t that different from her own joy in control. But he didn’t genuinely enjoy causing pain. He knew pain would get the reactions he wanted fastest, so it was a means to an end, just like killing or sexual attention. But it didn’t excite him.

Not like it did her. A good session of torture and humiliation was almost as good as foreplay for her and she still hadn’t found someone who was truly okay with that. Negan was as close as she was likely to get. 

Hinder certainly didn’t understand. Saga sighed as she pushed off from the wall and started walking down to where she might be more likely to find her people. She needed to assign someone to guard the infirmary. Hinder’s fascination with her had always been mildly irritating, even when the world had been more structured. Now, he was clearly obsessed and the “love” he held for her was becoming inconvenient.

“Why can’t people just do as they’re told,” she huffed as she turned the corner and exited the main building into the courtyard. She spotted Mal right away and curled a finger at him, drawing the blue-haired man out of his occupation. “Mal, who do you feel would be best assigned to guard duty on the infirmary?”

Mal blinked and considered, rocking back on his heels with his thumb under his chin. “You. Me. Wanda. Rosalyn.”

“Rosalyn,” Saga said in surprise. “Why her?”

“She won’t take shit from anybody,” Mal replied. “She takes orders well and is loyal. She won’t take anyone’s orders but yours, in the end. Even if I told her to do something, or Hinder, she’d follow what you said first.”

Saga nodded, pleased. “Okay. Grab her and Wanda, set them up with three-hour rotations until morning. I’m heading down for the night and want to make sure she’s well covered.”

“We’ll take care of her.” Mal nodded once, then paused and chewed his lip. “How is she?”

“Awake,” Saga smiled. “She’s still confused, I think. But she’s able to have a conversation, after a fashion. She isn’t quite right, Mal, but I think you knew that.” When he nodded, she added softly, “She’s mine. But if she’s interested in sharing, I’ll take it into consideration.” Mal raised his eyebrows and Saga grinned before pulling him down to her lips by the front of his shirt. “You deserve nice things, too, you know.”

“She’s not a thing,” Mal countered in a soft voice, but returned Saga’s kiss with a soft exhalation through his nose. “But thank you.”


End file.
